His Amore

Chapter 1-Naina

I sat at my desk tapping my pen against the hardwood, attempting to figure out the confusing file in front of me. My take out Chinese boxes that I devoured in a matter of minutes a few hours ago, were now beginning to smell. As I moved to throw it away I had an epiphany about the very case sitting on my desk. Micheal Sorrentino, a respected business member, was killed with a 9mm pistol, one shot through his right eye, he was killed in an alleyway near a sewage grate. Sewage grate, sewage grate, sew--wait.

"THE PISTOL IS IN THE SEWAGE!"I screamed to myself, a smile proudly sat on my face. Why didn't I think of this sooner.  Damn that Harvard degree really is not paying off now.

I quickly threw away my boxes and grabbed my black leather jacket and helmet, then as I was dashing out the office door I almost tripped over my feet but barely managed to keep my balance. I practically launched myself onto the back of my Suzuki GSX250rr, popped on my AirPods, and I put on my favorite playlist which consisted of 90's gangsta rap. 2pac's Hit Em Up blasted through my helmet that sat snuggly my head, I started to rap while I sped off. By the time I was finished I had arrived at the precinct.

The police station was a hive of activity, a whirlwind of people swarming around desks, each one clamoring for attention. Fists slammed down, voices rose above the rest, and the air was filled with tension and urgency. It was clear that this was no ordinary day at the precinct. Amidst the chaos, I knew waiting in line would be useless. There were questions burning in my mind, and I couldn't afford to waste any more time. I headed back outside to get back on my bike.

As I hopped back onto my bike, the uncertainty of my actions gnawed at the edges of my mind. Should I turn back, go home to my puppy Rocky, and watch Friends curled up on my couch eating ice cream?

"I've made it this far," I muttered to myself, the words a mantra of resolve in the face of uncertainty. "Might as well keep going."

With a twist of the throttle, I revved up the bike, the engine roaring to life beneath me. With each passing moment, the distance between me and the police station grew, replaced by the open road and the promise of answers waiting to be uncovered. As I sped into the moonlit night, the cool breeze whipped against my skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the moment. The city lights blurred past, a blur of neon and asphalt as I raced towards my destination.

At the corner of 56th and 3rd, I finally arrived at the crime scene. Despite the depressing nature of the situation, a thrill of excitement coursed through me. 

I parked a few blocks away, mindful of the parking regulations but unable to suppress the surge of anticipation that pulsed through my veins. After all, when was walking in New York at night ever a bad idea?

As I made my way down the sidewalk, there was a sense of purpose in my steps, I couldn't help but overhear voices drifting from the direction of the crime scene. Curiosity piqued, I quickened my pace, eager to discover what secrets lay hidden in the shadows.

"God dammit, Dante, find it already," a deep voice boomed, its authority cutting through the night air like a knife. There was a distinct Italian accent, thick with power and command. Despite the danger, I couldn't help but feel a strange attraction to the voice, its intensity drawing me in like a moth to a flame.

"Ci siamo quasi, capo," another voice responded, the words were laced with annoyance but respect. [Almost there boss]

As the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place, I realized that I had stumbled upon something far bigger than I could have ever imagined. And with each passing moment, the stakes grew higher, and the danger more palpable. But I was not one to back down from a challenge, especially when the truth hung in the balance.Wait, Italian? And he said capo? They're mafia. I've always wanted to bring those fuckers to jail. I need a better look.

I took off my heels, which I know is a bad idea in New York, sue me, and tip-toed behind the nearest dumpster. The dumpster wasn't that tall but luckily my 5'3" frame was perfectly covered. A small box allowed me to see the men's faces without them seeing me.

They were in MY sewage grate, looking for MY evidence. Those bastards, those hot bastards. No Naina, get your mind out of the gutter, they're criminals for crying out loud.

I peered closer, trying to make out their features in the dim light. I could barley see their skin color through the darkness.

Despite my anger towards them, I couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement.  And I was in the thick of it, hidden behind a dumpster in the heart of New York City.

"I can't believe you killed that fucker, capo!" he exclaimed.[Boss]

"Oh shit, he killed Michael Sorrentino," I muttered under my breath, the gravity of the situation hitting me like a ton of bricks. I was in the presence of a murderer, a cold-blooded killer capable of ending a man's life without a second thought. My heart raced as I glanced around, trying to gather my thoughts in the chaos of the moment.

Normally, I'd be observing from the safety of the courtroom, watching criminals being shackled and escorted away. But now, I was face to face with danger, my thoughts racing a mile a minute as fear gripped me tightly.

I began to pace behind the small dumpster, my mind frantically searching for a way out of this nightmare. Should I run? Should I stay and try to gather evidence? The options swirled in my mind, each one more terrifying than the last.

But as the reality of the situation sank in, a sense of self-preservation took hold. I couldn't risk everything I'd worked so hard for to convict this incredibly dangerous individual. With a heavy heart, I made the decision to walk away, to leave this nightmare behind me and never look back.

 As I turned to make my escape, I failed to notice the largest crate possible in my path and stumbled, falling flat on my face with a resounding thud. Classic Naina, I thought bitterly, even in the face of danger, I couldn't escape my own clumsiness.

As I struggled to lift myself off the concrete, the sound of footsteps echoed in the alleyway. Panic surged through me as I realized once again that I was not alone, that the men I had been trying to avoid were closing in on me.

With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I sprang to my feet and bolted towards my bike, each step fueled by sheer desperation. My curly hair bounced wildly on my back as I ran.

But just as I reached my bike and began to mount it, the shouts of the men behind me grew louder, sending a shiver of fear down my spine. Sweat beaded on my forehead, my heart hammering in my chest as I realized that I was running out of time.

"Fuck, that puttana is running," the 'capo' roared.[whore]

"Don't worry capo, a chase is funner," Dante claimed, I could feel the smirk on his face.

My pace didn't falter, thank god for being a basic Indian, because my track skills are paying off.

Just kidding! I am the least athletic person you will ever meet. I tried out for track back in the 4th grade, and came in second to last. The only person behind me was my friend who rolled her ankle. She had to leave halfway through, but I count it as a win. Basically what I'm trying to say is my only exercise is walking to the fridge and back. 

I have no idea how I am actually out running this guy, but I am just glad I have a chance of not dying.

 I could see my Suzuki in the distance. "C'mere principessa, I won't hurt you" Dante sneered, "Yet", he added sinisterly. I  bent my arm around my back and flipped him off, continuing to run to safety.[princess]

I panted heavily as I scrambled onto my bike, Dante only a few steps behind me. The adrenaline pumping through my veins urged me to act fast. Before I even got fully seated, I revved my engine, the powerful roar echoing through the now empty road.

The streetlights blurred as my bike tore through the night, the cool air whipping against my face. The city seemed to fly past in a blur of neon lights and looming skyscrapers.

Dante's footsteps were now an afterthought  I glanced over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of his far away figure in the distance.

"Chod," I curse in my native tongue.[fuck]

At least that's over.